A Warning
by xxsewnlipsxx
Summary: With her incarceration in the Gallows, Hawke's resolve to help mages hardens. Fenris/FemHawke, slight Anders/FemHawke.


**Title: A Warning**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: rape, torture, sexual themes**

**Summary: With her incarceration in the Gallows, Hawke's resolve to help mages hardens. Fenris/FemHawke, slight Anders/FemHawke.**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

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A Warning

They came in the dead of night, as she expected them to.

Hawke was waiting in her mansion. She had asked Bodahn to carry her big red chair down the stairs and to set it in the foyer so that one could see it right as they entered her home. Dressing in her battle robes with Bethany's hair band tied around her wrist, she sat down with her legs crossed, fingers curled around her staff as it rested on the ground. Leaning back, she waited for them, and so the Templar cowards were the ones taken by surprise.

When Meredith had glared at her after taking her hand, she knew her fate had been sealed. Of course, the Templar hadn't expected her to defeat the Arishok and win the hearts of the nobles, but it was all the same. Hawke was an apostate, and she would be treated like one. The Templars were not bold enough to take her away in front of the people she had just saved. So they would wait until nightfall when no one but apathetic neighbors might hear her screams, and no noble could stand up for his or her savior until the news spread. She only hoped that Carver would not be among them.

He wasn't. When they burst in the door, her mabari leapt to his feet and began to bark in earnest. She shushed him, and all the Templars froze at the same time. Whether they realized that she wouldn't be some child they could easily apprehend or that she had been expecting them, she didn't know. Either way, they made no move, each masked man with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Their armor gleamed in the firelight. Slowly, she unwound her fingers and let her stave fall.

The sound of it hitting the ground felt like a surrender. The leading Templar turned his gaze from the fallen staff to her face, then he bowed curtly and signaled for them to take her arms. Two men hesitated before marching forward with their heavy feet and seizing her shoulders. She did not resist. Fingers bruised her skin as they marched her out her own front door and into the darkness of the night. She swore she heard the disapproving whine from her mabari as they walked away.

It was not as she had thought it would be. Their slow steps were ominous as they approached the Gallows. The looming building had a darker feel about it; the slow leak of contained magic and the burning touch of Templars sucking away her energy made her feel drained. When they stopped just outside the entrance to the Gallows, Meredith was there with her head bowed, toying with something in her hands.

"She gave up without a fight, Knight-Commander," the leading Templar said behind his muffling helmet.

Smirking wryly, Meredith replied, "As I suspected." Turning to face her, she spread her legs and clasped her hands behind her back. "You are wise beyond your years, Hawke, and if you are as clever as I believe you to be, you know that there will be an outrage at your incarceration. Your status will have you out of here in a matter of days."

"I figured," Hawke whispered softly. Hard fingers tipped with metal bit into her jaw as Meredith gripped her face in one hand. She would have bruises. Perhaps that was the point.

"Enjoy your time here, Champion," Meredith smiled wickedly. "I hope that it will bring back memories, and know that I do this not out of hatred of mages, but as a political maneuver and a warning of what will happen if you get in my way."

Hawke raised her poison green eyes to meet hers. "As you bid, Templar."

Meredith's smile faltered for a moment. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Obedience suits you." Twisting her hand so that Hawke's chin was jerked harshly to the side, she let go and turned her back. It was only then that Hawke saw what was in her hand. The piece of red cloth was tiny, only large enough to fit around a person's wrist. The intimacy of that moment came flooding back and made Hawke's stomach clench. Did they have Fenris, too? "Your elven…lover dropped this on the battlefield earlier today. I picked it up out of the kindness of my heart."

She gripped Hawke's wrist and turned it over, gently tying the cloth around it. Patting the hand, she let it fall and turned her gaze to the sky. "Do not lose it. I pray that this bit of kindness will help the Maker forgive me." When her head turned back to the Templar, Hawke clenched her teeth. "Take her."

All of a sudden, the Templars were no longer the kind men watching out for citizens of Kirkwall. They became monsters, hands biting into her flesh, shoving and pushing her up the steps of the Gallows, and she allowed herself to be corralled. One of them made a rude joke and gesture. Her exhausted legs could not keep up with their shoving, so they practically carried her up the steps like a sacrifice to the Maker himself. She kept her eyes trained on the sky and tried to remember the old trick she'd used when the Templars had caught her a few times in Lothering.

Struggling would be futile, so she did not attempt it. Instead, she tried to remain as proud as she could. She hoped that Anders wouldn't hate her for giving in. There was no alternative, not really. He'd evaded them as well as he could, but if they had truly decided to descend, he would have been in the Gallows with her. The jeering and shoving stopped as they entered the hall where all the late-night students glanced up with glazed eyes from their books as she was marched past the library. A few of the guards bowed their heads. Whether they knew what would happen or whether they bowed in respect of her entourage, she didn't know. Either way, it made her stomach queasy.

Up a thousand steps they seemed to climb until they reached a large room at the very top where a line of dank and dirty cells were lined up. The men gripping her forearm shoved her into one of them, and she pitched forward onto her hands and knees. A weak pile of dirty clothing with blue eyes glanced up from a cell a few feet over in fear. It took a moment for Hawke to realize it was a fellow mage, and her fist clenched in anger. Someone went over and hauled the mage to her feet, taking her away. Whatever was going to happen, they didn't want any witnesses.

Slowly, Hawke stood up to face her attacker. Beatings, rape, cold water...she'd lived through it all before. The lead Templar took off his helmet and tossed it to a man behind him. His smile was full of broken teeth and sleazy advances. He was the one in charge, she realized as his hand came down on her face full force. It might have knocked her to the ground had she not been expecting it, but it didn't. She only staggered backwards with enough time to brace herself for the next punch. It skidded off her jaw, a direct and downward blow to send her to her knees. She fell, catching herself on her palms and skinning them.

A foot in her stomach made her groan, and suddenly they were coming from all sides. Armored toes dug into her flesh, bruising and yellowing her skin. Blood from a broken nose gushed over her lips which were already split by the force of the punches. One of them ripped her hair out. She was forced to her feet and then shoved against the bars only to have her head beaten off them. The leader stepped on her fingers, breaking her pinky with his weight. Hands pulled at her wounds from the Arishok, tearing them open and spilling forth all the blood she had. All the time, she kept her magic in check. Fighting back would do no good. She did not scream. It had happened before.

After what seemed an eternity, the beating stopped, and she lay in a pool of her own blood with drool coming out of her mouth. Floating somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, she did not hear them dragging in the bath. Her eyes were glazed as she tried to remember happier times. The cold of the room bit into her skin as surely as the radiating pain did. A few of her ribs were broken for sure. Her face would be a mess for weeks. For the first time, she could see.

She could see why a mage would turn to blood magic to fight back.

The second beating was over more quickly, or maybe she just passed out for most of it. They ripped out more of her hair. Jokes were made, lewd gestures. Her robes were torn as she was thrown from and to every corner of the cell until only shredded bits were hanging off her. They kicked, they swore, they spit, they punch, and they even cut her with a sword once or twice. One of them dumped ale on her head, and it ran down her face like sour rain, droplets on her tongue. It tasted of blood and bitter resignation. When she came to, they were hauling her up by her limbs. She barely had time to open her swollen and blackened eyes before everything was drowning.

She went in with a mouth full of water, unprepared for the sudden submergence. This time, she did fight back. She kicked and swore and screamed, wasting precious air that bubbled up to the glassy mirror full of Templar faces right above her. Large fingers gripped her thigh and caressed upwards, and she twisted away. They were too strong. A single female could not fight off four strong men. When she was practically sobbing for air and her lungs burned so badly it felt as though they were on fire, they brought her to the surface.

Choking, she sucked in as much air as she could before they drowned her again. They kept her down longer this time until she nearly passed out. When she surfaced again, she was dizzy and blindly reach out like a child. The salty, warm tears mixed with the cold and stale bathwater. They laughed and mocked as she tried to crawl out before sinking her again. For what seemed an hour they did this. Over and over again was she given tiny bits of air before being held down as water splashed over the sides and onto the straw in the stony room. She shrieked and twisted and bit down on their fingers that tried to grope a breast or touch her lips. The day's events had already made her weary, though, and this torture was taking all that was left.

Finally they relented, and she crawled out of the tub pitifully, soaked to the bone with torn bits of clothing hanging from her hips and breasts. A foot crashed into her ribs, pitching her over onto her side where she froze. They left her alone for a few minutes, a small mercy. As she was lying next to the wall, a man stood up and chucked a glass of wine above her where it shattered. The broken glass cut into her skin as it fell on top of her, bits of glitter on her soaked flesh. Like lyrium.

And it seemed inevitable, what came next. Two of the men left, dragging the tub out. The other left as well until there was only one. Perhaps the rest were retiring to bed. Perhaps they weren't strong enough to see a woman completely broken. Perhaps he wanted her to himself. She didn't know. When he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet, she had already given up the fight.

"You're rather pretty for a dirty mage," he groused, stinking of ale. His broken teeth were yellowed with age. She thought she might vomit as hot breath wafted over her face. Unclean fingers searched her skin, gripping her wrist and bringing it up in front of her face. She kept her expression neutral, almost lost and unfocused. He slammed her head against the wall to wake her up. The pain helped, but it didn't change her expression. "What's so special about this red ribbon, huh?"

Fenris's face flashed in her mind's eye. Oh, and how he hated mages! But did he hate them enough to justify this? Would he be angry at the Templars, the only thing keeping the mages in check? Would he change sides if he were here?

The Templar tore the ribbon off, and it floated to the ground soaked with blood and tears and ale. Plastered against the wall, she kept her eyes on it even as he kissed her. The taste was worse than the smell, but she tried to envision Fenris's sweet and searching kisses. Hands gripped her breasts and bruised her nipples, and she tried to remember her lover's soft caresses. When he threw her to the ground, she tried to see a soft bed. Her head hit the ground exactly where the ribbon was, and she reached up to touch it with her broken and bloodied fingers. He kept her on her belly, perhaps not wanting to see her face. Perhaps he just liked it better from behind.

His girth was not what she was used to. She sobbed into the ribbon, trying to call back Fenris and his smell and his touch and his pulsating desire inside of her. It was a harder thing to do than she thought. When it was over at last, she realized she had almost fallen asleep and wanted to laugh bitterly into his face for that. He pulled out, told her she was a good lay, and left her there, naked and vulnerable. When the ache between her legs stopped, the blood and pain ebbing away in favor of pure exhaustion, she fell asleep and did not wake up until they came.

The pull of the fade was enough to rouse her. Anders, she realized with a sobbing desperation. The fade truly did pulse inside him like the sun. Karl had been right. The smell of blood wafted up the stairs, and she saw that they were drowned in it. Anders, Aveline, and Fenris were there. At Aveline's exclamation and turning away, Anders ran to her and clasped her hands.

"Maker, Hawke," he whispered in despair. Fenris's tattoos glowed with a fury as he rigidly bent to her side, taking her other hand. Aveline quietly produced a blanket out of thin air and covered her modestly, hand over her mouth as she almost cried. It must have been worse than it looked. Hawke had never seen Aveline so much as shed a tear, not even for Wesley.

"It looks worse than it is," she promised them in a soft voice that was hoarse with screaming. "But I wouldn't…wouldn't mind getting out of here."

"Where are they? Who did this?" Fenris growled.

"Templars without faces," she said to him, bending at her knee to try to get up. The shape of the stone had left indentions in her back. Semen dripped between her legs, and straw stuck to her sweaty and feverish skin. "Just take me home. Please."

"Come on, Hawke," Aveline said, settling a hand on her belly. "Let's go home." She signaled for the boys to take either arm, pulling Hawke to her bleeding feet. When Anders saw her wounds, he swept her into his arms instead, convincing Fenris to let go. The tenseness in his shoulders and angry set of his jaw made Hawke think it was probably for the best. He looked about to explode with anger.

They made it through the underground passageway with little incident. Anders only had to set her down once to fight a few Templars. She didn't mind. The warmth of the earth under her fingertips, the smell of a dank cave, the presence of her loved ones: all of it beat being locked up in a tiny cell waiting for the next man to come and claim a piece of her. She did watch Fenris, though. She watched him a little too closely. Everything about him was controlled as though his anger were about to explode. He took care to softly touch her hair once as he helped Anders pick her up. His eyes were kind then, full of love even though he had run away. She had clasped his fingers and refused to let go as she nuzzled closely into Anders's chest.

Finally she was home, and the dog bound toward her as though he had been worried. Anders kneeled, allowing the dog to lick the blood from her face as she giggled and pet his fur. "Sorry to worry you, boy," she told him, kissing his muzzle.

"I will…stand guard," Fenris muttered, going outside. Aveline and Anders took Hawke up to her bathroom and bathed her, washing away the stink of that place, that man's touch. When she was finally clean, she held onto Anders for dear life as Aveline dressed her. Then they put her to bed, and Aveline kissed her forehead as Bethany might have done. Hawke caught her hand.

"Thank you," she whispered to the guard, and Aveline smiled at her before walking out.

Anders stayed by her side, wiping the hair from her eyes. "You're right, Anders. All this time…you've been right."

"Go to sleep, Hawke," he said to her. "Don't think about it."

"No," she shook her head, tears brimming. "I had been through it before. I knew. Maker, I knew what it was that mages suffered. Yet I have done nothing. I have stood by and let this continue. The cruelty of the Templars knows no bounds."

"Hush," he said half-heartedly.

She looked him in the eyes, poison green meeting soft brown. "Let me join you, Anders. Let me help you with the mages."

"You already do your part," he assured her. "You've helped more apostates than anyone else I've ever met."

"Not just the apostates," she told him. "I want to free them all." She paused thoughtfully, clenching the sheets between her fingers. Then she threw off the covers and walked to the fireplace. The bruises were still fresh, still painful. Never had she been so exhausted. "Meredith has sent me a warning. That is what she called it."

"That bitch," Anders cursed. "She did this?"

"Yes," she said, bracing herself on the fireplace. "She sent me a warning?" Hawke allowed a bitter chuckle pass her lips. Already the fear that childhood memories had brought back was fading. She could hear the steel in her own voice. "I will send her a warning of my own. Let the walls of the chantry shake with a mage's fury. This will not go unpunished."

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**This is really dark, and I apologize if you didn't catch my warnings at the top. I'll be writing more Fenris/Hawke of both genders later. Thanks for reading. Review please.**


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